Part II.

Miss Appolina Briggs was somewhat of a power in the Reid family. She was a cousin of the fathers of Millicent, Joanna, and Peggy, their fathers being brothers, and for many years when they were boys she had made her home with their parents. She now, however, had a house of her own.

She was very wealthy, very aristocratic, and very eccentric. Kind-hearted and charitable, she preferred to do good in her own way only.

A month or two ago Miss Briggs had informed her relatives that she intended to pass the summer in England, and that it was barely possible that she would ask one of her young cousins to accompany her. Which should be the fortunate one she should not decide until a week before the date fixed for sailing. That would be time enough, she said, for no preparations would be necessary. All the girl's wants could be supplied on the other side.

This proposition sounded very attractive, for Cousin Appolina was generous even though she was so peculiar, and there was no doubt that in addition to having the pleasure of the trip, a well-stocked wardrobe would fall to the share of the lucky recipient of her favor.

As Peggy had said, there was not much probability that she would be the one honored. She had a habit of making all sorts of speeches in Miss Briggs's presence which did not please the good lady at all. And yet no one knew. It would be just like Cousin Appolina's unexpectedness if she were to veer suddenly around and decree that Margaret, as she always called her, should be the one to go to England.

Consequently, suspense and excitement ran high in the Reid family, and in the intervals of study, fair work, and poetry-making there was much discussion as to which of the three should be Miss Appolina's choice.

She herself had gone to Washington for a few weeks, and the family breathed more easily for a time. When so much depended upon it the girls were greatly afraid of doing something to offend their cousin, which might very easily happen, and in that case she would sail alone with her maid!

In the mean time preparations for the fair continued, and at last the day arrived. Millicent, having convinced herself that this would be the best means of securing the recognition of her powers as a poetess that she wanted, the recognition which had hitherto been denied her by unfeeling editors, had been reeling off verse by the yard.

Each poem had been printed in the form of a little fancy booklet, at considerable expense to the author, it is true, but the girls had plenty of pocket money, and Millicent had eased her conscience with the thought that her object was charity as well as recognition, and each copy that was sold would bring in twenty-five cents to the fair. She had raised the price since the poems came home--she had no idea that they would look so attractive, she said. They would be sure to sell.

Peggy had helped her with a readiness that would have appeared suspicions if Millicent had not been too much absorbed in sentiment to notice it. She had accompanied her cousin to make arrangements for having the poems printed, and had inspected them on their return, and now the morning upon which the fair was to open she offered to carry the box which contained them to an office in the neighborhood, and have them sent to Sherry's, where the fair was to be held, by a district telegraph boy.

"It is much better than ringing for a messenger-boy to come to the house," she said, "for then no one can find out in any way who 'Pearl Proctor' is. I shall be on hand when the box arrives so that I can hear what people say, but you had better not come until afterwards, Mill, for your face would be sure to give it away."

The fancy articles, including Miss Briggs's slippers, had already been sent.

Joanna went to school, longing for the morning to pass that she might get to the fair herself. She and one of her friends were to manage the "fish pond," while Millicent was to be an aid at the flower-table, and Peggy would assist in selling some of the fancy articles.

Peggy left the package at the office, and then hailed a car, that she might not fail to reach the fair in time to witness its arrival. She looked forward to having some rare sport. She only wished that she could take some one into her confidence, for it is always so much more fun to laugh with a comrade than to laugh alone. However, a laugh is valuable at any time.

So thought Miss Peggy as she made her way along Thirty-seventh Street in her new spring hat and gown, her eyes dancing with anticipation.

The poem on Cousin Appolina had been tucked into the box along with the rest, but very much underneath. In that way Peggy felt confident that it would escape observation at the fair, and yet be among the poems to give Millicent a shock when they came back.

"For of course no one is going to buy those silly things," said Peggy to herself; "and I hope it will be a good lesson to Milly. Such conceit as hers in regard to that poetry I never saw, and it ought to be taken down."

She found the rooms in a state of disorder. Various fashionable dames who had the fair in charge were running about in a vain attempt to bring some degree of order out of the confusion, and Peggy's coming was hailed with delight.

"Oh, Peggy Reid! Just the person I want. Peggy, dear, do hold the end of this scarf while I fasten it here."

"Peggy, just see if you can find the tack-hammer."

"Peggy, you have just come, and can see things with a fresh eye. Tell me the effect of this drapery."

But notwithstanding all these calls upon her, Peggy managed to be conveniently near the door when a messenger-boy appeared, bearing a box addressed, in a printed hand, to Mrs. Pearson, who had charge of the fair. Peggy took the box, dismissed the boy hastily, and carried it to Mrs. Pearson.

"Something else? Oh, do open it, Peggy! I am so busy," exclaimed that lady, precisely as Peggy hoped she would do. She opened the box--that which she herself had so carefully tied up not long before.

On the top lay a type-written card, which read, "Sent by one of the congregation, who hopes that they may bring twenty-five cents apiece." Beneath were a number of little booklets.

"Why, Mrs. Pearson, do look! Somebody has sent some poems to sell," cried Peggy, in tones of great surprise. "A member of the congregation, and they are signed 'Pearl Proctor'! Who in the world can it be?"

Several people gathered about.

"How very funny! One of the congregation? Who do you suppose it is? I wish I had time to read them," said Mrs. Pearson. "They are certainly a novelty at a fair. Twenty-five cents she values them at? The lady is modest. But take care, girls," she added, in a warning whisper, approaching two young women who were laughing immoderately over one of Pearl Proctor's productions, "you must be careful! No one knows who wrote them, and the person may be in the room watching us at this very minute. It will never do to hurt her feelings."

"Oh, but, Mrs. Pearson, if you could only read this! It is the funniest thing I ever read, and the best part of it is, it isn't meant to be at all."

"Never mind, don't laugh. I beg of you! How did they get here, Peggy?"

"A messenger-boy brought them," returned Peggy promptly, feeling very glad that Millicent was not here to see the effect they produced. She was almost sorry that she had urged her to send them. After all it seemed a shame to make fun of the poor dear.

"Well, do be careful, girls," said Mrs. Pearson, as she moved away.

An hour or so later Millicent herself walked into the rooms. She looked very lovely, for her beautiful golden hair had twisted into little curls and waves, the morning being somewhat damp, and there was an unusual sparkle in her dreamy blue eyes. It was very exciting to have one's poems actually for sale.

The first thing that met her gaze was a large sign placed above a small table. Upon the table lay the array of booklets, while the sign read thus:

"A NOVELTY! POEMS BY PEARL PROCTOR.

A MEMBER of THE CONGREGATION.

_Twenty-five Cents Each._"

She did not have sufficient courage to walk boldly up with the air of a stranger and inspect the wares thus offered for sale, so she turned aside and began to talk to some of her friends, asking what she could do to help.

"My dear," said Elsie Pearson, flying up to her, and speaking in a whisper, "I am so glad you have come! I must tell you the greatest joke in the world. Somebody has sent a lot of poems to the fair to sell! Did you ever hear of anything so delicious? Mamma says we ought not to laugh, for the person who wrote them may be in the room, but it is too awfully funny not to laugh the least bit, and I know you are safe."

Millicent smiled stiffly. "Are they funny poems?" she asked. "You seem to find them amusing."

Elsie would have noticed her tone if she had not been so excited and in such haste.

"They are not meant to be," she said, aloud, as she moved away. "That is the best part of the whole thing."

Millicent, left alone, felt as if she could cry with pleasure. How perfectly outrageous it was in that odious Elsie Pearson to talk in such a way! The only comfort was that Elsie was anything but intellectual, and would not know good poetry when she saw it. She would probably fail to see any beauty in Tennyson.

Peggy had watched this conference from across the room; and she now came quickly over to her cousin. "Look out, Mill," she said in a low tone, "you will have to be awfully careful that no one catches on. If I were you I wouldn't stay so near the poetry table."

Peggy, already deeply regretting her joke, wished to spare her cousin as much as possible. But her good intentions were frustrated by Mrs. Pearson.

"Millicent," said that lady, "we have had some new wares sent in; something I never saw before at a fair. Poems, my dear. Just think of it; and by a member of the congregation! We can't imagine who wrote them, and of course they are perfect trash" (this in a low voice), "but we will have to do our best to sell them, so I want you to take charge of that table. You won't mind changing, I know. And try not to let the people laugh at the poems. They are absurd, I know, judging from one I picked up. It was about a moth or an ant or something. I am not sure that it was not a Croton bug," and with a laugh at her own wit Mrs. Pearson led Millicent to the poetry table, and established her behind it.

It was now twelve o'clock, the hour at which the fair was to be opened to the public.

Two or three hours later the sale was in full swing. A great many people came, for it was in every respect a fashionable function, and it was considered quite the thing to be seen there. People bought largely also of every variety of article--except poetry. That seemed to go a-begging.

There was always a crowd about the table, but no one felt inclined to purchase. The little booklets were picked up, read, dropped again, with laughter and comments, until Millicent felt that she would gladly sink through the floor.

Even her own mother came, criticised, and moved on, with a whispered question to Millicent as to what member of the congregation could have been so conceited and so senseless as to do such a thing as this.

Millicent's head ached, and tears filled her eyes, and she thought the climax had been reached when Elsie Pearson, picking one up at random, said, laughingly:

"Just listen to this, Milly! It is the gem of the whole collection. I can't help it if the 'member of the congregation' does see me. She deserves to be made fun of." And Elsie in a whisper read the following:

"TO THE MARCH WIND.

"Loud and shrill, loud and shrill, List to the wild March wind! And the heart of the mariner trembles As he sails his rudder behind.

"My dear, the 'member' is a little mixed! Does she mean the mariner sails behind the rudder, or the rudder sails behind the mariner? Did you _ever_, Millicent? I don't believe she knows which part of a ship the rudder is. And this is the second verse:

"And the bell on the bleak beach bellows.

"(There's alliteration for you. Fancy a bell bellowing!)

"And the fog-horn lifts its voice, And the mariner goes to an early grave, He has no other choice.

"Oh, Milly! isn't it funny? Why don't you laugh?"

"I am laughing," said Millicent, in a hoarse voice; "it makes me perfectly hysterical," and she hid her face for a moment in her handkerchief. Fortunately Elsie was at that moment called away.

Millicent found to her cost, as the afternoon wore on, that the climax had not been even then.

Joanna had come late to the fair, detained by school and luncheon until four o'clock. She had found no one at home, not even her mother, but she had heard from the maid a piece of news which caused her heart to bound with excitement and consternation.

Cousin Appolina had returned very unexpectedly from Washington!

Joanna decided that she must tell Millicent as soon as she reached the fair, so that the slippers might be removed at once. It would be better to be on the safe side, although it was extremely improbable that Cousin Appolina would visit the fair the first day of her return.

But just as Joanna came out of the front door Miss Briggs herself drove up in her carriage, and learning that no one was at home in either of her relatives' houses, but that all had gone to the fair, concluded to betake herself there also, and forthwith invited Joanna to get in and drive with her to Sherry's.

Joanna, nothing loth, accepted the invitation, feeling rather glad on the whole that her cousin had returned in time, for she would be sure to spend her money freely, and Joan was greatly interested in the success of the sale. And, alas! she forgot all about the worsted slippers!

They presented their tickets, and entered the room just as Millicent had buried her face in her handkerchief upon hearing the remarks of Elsie Pearson. When she emerged therefrom the first thing that met her astonished gaze was the tall and never-to-be-forgotten form of Cousin Appolina Briggs, and her heart sank with apprehension. For a moment the works of her unappreciated genius were forgotten. Her one thought was "slippers!"

"Oh, that I had never sent those horrible slippers!" she said to herself despairingly. "It will be just my luck to have her see them, and would serve me right, too, for having given away a present. Yes, she is going that way! Oh, if I could only make Peggy or Joan come here! They could go and buy the slippers before she gets there."

But Peggy and Joan were not forth-coming. The latter, full of business, had lost no time in retiring behind the screen which formed the "fish-pond," and was already baiting the hook with ardor, and queerly shaped packages, and Peggy had not yet seen her cousin, and supposed her to be safe at Washington.

But Miss Briggs was not one to remain long unnoticed. She was of commanding height and noble breadth. When she entered a room the rest of humanity seemed to grow smaller by comparison. Her voice was deep and had a penetrating quality which caused it to be heard at the unusual distance, and the gold lorgnette, without which she was never seen, and which she was in the habit of raising constantly to her short-sighted and somewhat prominent eyes, flashed and glittered in the light.

Truly Miss Appolina's was a presence calculated to make itself felt. And Peggy felt it, and she heard the voice, and a tremor that seemed like fear filled her naturally courageous heart. She looked at Cousin Appolina, and she looked at the poetry table. There was yet time. Leaving abruptly a customer who was on the verge of making an important purchase, who only needed a word of advice from Miss Peggy Reid as to which was the prettier, a centre-piece embroidered in yellow, or a table-cloth done in greens, she flew to the side of Millicent.

"The poems!" she gasped. "Have any of them sold?"

"Not one," said Millicent, "but oh, Peggy; there is Cousin Appolina!"

"I know," returned Peggy, breathlessly, as she turned over the booklets--"I know! That's just it!"

"But the slippers, Peggy! Go and get them. I don't dare."

"The slippers! They are nothing to the poetry. Oh, where is it?"

And she tossed the poems hither and thither, looking first into one, then into another.

"Oh, where is it?"

"What do you mean, Peggy? Don't waste time over the poetry. Do please go and buy those slippers! Give any price. There, she is getting to that table now! It is too late!"

There was a lull in the noise at that moment, and Miss Briggs's clear deep tones could be distinctly heard by the two culprits.

"I want a pair of knit slippers. I make a great many myself, but I never seem to have any for my own use. How much are these red and gray ones? A dollar and a half? Give them to me, please, and never mind about the change. I have not examined them thoroughly, but if they do not suit me I will give them away."

It was too late. She had bought her own slippers. Millicent hoped that the gold lorgnette would be smashed to atoms before the lady reached her home; that her spectacles would lose themselves; even that the world would come to an end before Miss Appolina found an opportunity to examine those red and gray worsted slippers. That she would recognize them Millicent felt no doubt, for they were knit in a fashion peculiar to herself, the two colors forming a little plaid.

Meanwhile Peggy had tossed about the poems with no result. She had only succeeded in bringing to the top those that had hitherto lain in safe insignificance at the bottom.

Now she stood by the table as if turned into stone, and awaited the approach of an avenging fate. The day of practical jokes was over for her.

She knew, she felt absolutely confident, that just as surely as Cousin Appolina had chosen the slippers of her own make, just so surely would she pounce upon the poem that Peggy had written about her.

Miss Briggs drew near.

"Well, girls!" she said, in her great deep voice, the gold lorgnette raised to her eyes--"well, girls, you did not expect to see me back so soon, did you? Washington became insupportable. Too many odious-looking people. I could not endure it. What have we here?" staring at the sign, "'Poems by Pearl Proctor, a member of the congregation'? And who may she be? Proctor--Proctor? I don't remember the name in New York. Proctor is a Boston name. Who is it, Millicent?"

Millicent trembled.

"I--I--" she faltered.

"You!" thundered her cousin. "Never! What do you mean?"

"Milly didn't mean to say that," interposed Peggy. "She was probably going to say she couldn't tell who it is. It is an assumed name, we suppose, Cousin Appolina."

"Is not Millicent capable of speaking for herself?" inquired Miss Briggs, severely. "Since when did she lose the power of speech?"

The girls shook in their shoes, and held their peace.

"What are these things?" continued this terrible person, picking up the poems disdainfully, and again putting her lorgnette to her eyes: "'Ode to a Firefly,' 'Sonnet on the Caterpiller,' 'Some Lines to a Beggar Child.' Faugh! Who is the fool that is guilty of all this? But--but--what have we here?"

It had come, then! For this is what Miss Appolina read, but not aloud:

"Who is a dame of high degree? Who's always scolded little me? Who is a sight strange for to see? Miss Appolina B.

"Who cannot with her friends agree? Who loves to feed on cakes and tea? Who prides herself on her pedigree? Miss Appolina B.

"Who'll soon set sail across the sea? Who will not take her cousins three? Who is an ancient, awful she? Miss Appolina B."

Miss Briggs looked from one to the other of the girls. The hum of the fair went on.

"I will buy all of these poems," she said in a voice which filled their souls with terror; "count them, and tell me the amount. And I wish to see you both to-morrow morning at ten o'clock."

Wondering, Millicent obeyed.

Peggy turned and fled.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.

BY KIRK MUNROE.